


<a pattern in the system> A Bullet In The Gun

by myrmidryad



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Future Fic, Multi, POV Multiple, gratuitous technology, space and stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:44:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrmidryad/pseuds/myrmidryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Les Mis cyberpunk/future/space au.</p><p> </p><p>“Can you take the controls for a bit?” Feuilly said casually. “Don’t let Bahorel near the guns.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	<a pattern in the system> A Bullet In The Gun

Jehan looked up when he heard footsteps in time to see Combeferre come around the corner, boots sharp on the metal floor of their new ship. He was glad that if anyone had to see him like this, at least it was Combeferre. 

“Jehan, what –” 

Jehan shook his head, bones rattling as he trembled. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t…” He was trembling too much to continue, tears spilling over and dripping onto his hands. God, his hideous hands, his blood-drenched hands. 

Combeferre had his arm around him in a second, holding him close and pulling him up onto his feet. Jehan couldn’t stop crying now, and he was shaking so much that tiny droplets of blood flew from his fingers. “It’s alright,” Combeferre whispered. 

“No,” Jehan shook his head, gulping filtered air. “No, don’t…don’t let the others see, don’t let Enjolras see…” 

Combeferre made a small sound and pulled Jehan against him, heedless of the blood transferred from Jehan’s hands to the front of his vest. “Shhh.” 

“Disappoint him,” Jehan gasped, tears falling onto Combeferre’s back. “I’m sorry…your shirt…oh, _God_ …” 

Combeferre continued to shush him, one of his hands stroking Jehan’s hair. It reminded him of his mother, and he stopped trying to speak and just collapsed. Combeferre shifted them so that he could support their weight against the wall and kept making soothing noises until Jehan’s sobs subsided, minutes later. 

“My hands,” he whispered, pulling back and looking down at the red soaked into Combeferre’s shirt. “It’s all over my hands…your shirt…” 

“It’ll wash out,” Combeferre told him, letting him step back. He wasn’t shaking anymore, but there was still a tremble in his arms and legs. 

“Help me,” he breathed, staring at his bloody skin. There were crusted pools of it in the creases, dried brown under and around his nails. It was warm still – it had been hot not long ago. “Get it off me, please.” 

Combeferre didn’t waste time. He took Jehan’s arm with a gentle, “Come on,” and walked him quickly to the nearest disinfection station. Jehan stood motionless as Combeferre held his hands under the powder spray and then dunked them in the suction solution. It was more hygienic than water, and his hands came out devoid of red, but Jehan still wished for cold water, fresh and clean in a purer way than disinfectant. Water to wash away his sins. 

Combeferre kept his arm around his shoulder as they walked to the bridge. Enjolras was there, of course, with Courfeyrac, Marius, and Cosette. They all started at the sight of Combeferre’s shirt, and Marius leapt forward, terror in his eyes. “Are you hurt?” 

“No,” Combeferre assured him, pulling his vest to the side to show his unmarked stomach. “It’s not mine.” 

It wasn’t Jehan’s either. The realisation, coupled with seeing Enjolras so apparently serene in the captain’s chair, shattered him all over again, and he fell to his knees. Marius jumped back, shocked, and Combeferre crouched next to him, curling around him to protect him from their eyes. 

He was going to cry again. How could he ever think he was brave enough to do this? 

“Jehan.” 

Enjolras had knelt in front of him, and when Jehan didn’t raise his head, Enjolras reached out and curled his fingers under Jehan’s chin to lift it gently. His hand was soft and warm, and a tear rolled onto it from Jehan’s left eye as he tried in vain to blink it back. 

Enjolras’ expression wasn’t disdainful or pitying. He just looked sad. “To kill another person is a monstrous thing,” he said quietly, holding Jehan’s gaze. “If you felt nothing, you would not be human.” 

It was too much. Enjolras caught him as he toppled forward, crying heavily again, and he didn’t move away. The others sat around them and pressed close, reassuring each other of their presence. They were a miserable pile of thin bodies huddled in the middle of the bridge of the ship they had killed to attain, and if the price was the feeling of blood drying on his hands, was Jehan willing to pay?

  

 

Éponine got the news from the trip Combeferre had installed in her infoLink before it was splashed across every feed from here to the edge of the galaxy, so she was already on the move by the time everyone else had begun to air their opinions. She read them as she hurried through the narrow slums of the lower decks, stroking her tongue against the roof of her mouth quickly to scroll through the text flowing down the right-hand side of her vision. It still glitched occasionally, but it was impossible to get a clean signal below the first deck, and Éponine’s infoLink was several years behind the latest updates. 

The ABC had stolen two ships from the G – the Galaxian Guard. The message came last night from Marius, who was apparently on the ship Enjolras had taken. The other was captained by Feuilly. They planned to set up a Barricade across the subspace channel and divert the latest nutrition shipment to the public docks on the tenth deck. Nutrition cargo never came in below D deck these days – the risk of hijacking was too great. Éponine couldn’t help grinning at their cleverness. They couldn’t get to the upper decks to take the food there, so they would take control before it got close enough to dock out of their reach. She wondered who had come up with the plan. 

She hoped they were all alive. 

A ping popped up in the bottom left of her vision – Azelma. Éponine ignored it and disconnected her frequency from the network. She couldn’t afford for her signal to start fucking up a detector anywhere – up above the first deck unregistered frequencies were easily detected, and she couldn’t be slowed up now. She needed to get information, and fast. No better place than the catteries for that. Higher-ups let loose all sorts of things when they were getting a good fuck. 

She bartered hard for the information she got, but it was worth handing over the codes to two nutri-caches for what she got from the cat she spoke to. The prostitutes of the station were ragged down in the catteries, but most of the G couldn’t seem to afford to go to a proper brothel. She hurried along to a public porthub and linked in, nudging lines of code out into the void beyond the station’s system for three whole minutes before Marius started to catch them and form a communication chain. 

 _< Blinker’s Alley,>_ she sent. _< Triple snakes.>_ They’d be at the Ariel-Wrax gate, she meant. Three platoons of Galaxy Guards. It was highly unlikely that any monitors would pick up on their loose, barely-there code, light as a whisper on the subspace wave, but they always used encryption just in case. They’d created their own slang as well, separate from the lower deck argot Éponine was fluent in. It was the only way for their operations to stay safe. 

She had joined the ABC for Marius, and stayed for their cause. She’d been sceptical at first – rich boys fighting for people they’d never even met – but it hadn’t taken long for her to realise that they were utterly sincere, and since Cosette had joined Éponine had thrown herself into the work to distract herself from heartbreak. She was their best ground agent by far, unafraid of utilising dodgy contacts or slumming it to get information herself. The slang had been her idea, and her lower-level knowledge had saved their skins on more than one occasion when the G came hunting for rebels. After a lifetime of hearing about how useless she was from everyone she knew (save her siblings), it had been strange to be needed. Stranger still to be wanted. She couldn’t go back to her old life now even if she’d wanted to – she needed the ABC as much as they needed her. 

Marius sent back a rush of gratitude, and she sent the impression of a smile before expertly dismantling the signal and disconnecting. There was plenty more she could do to make their idiotic plan a little safer, and top of her list was finding her little brother. Gavroche was an expert at flying under the radar, and he could go places she couldn’t. He’d also do anything for a bit of mischief, and he adored the ABC, so she was sure he’d be willing to do what he could. The difficult bit would be finding him. 

The shutdown sirens began to wail, and the people who’d been linked into the porthubs around her cried out in anger at the interruption. Éponine hissed and started to run through the crowds, fumbling in her pocket for a credit stick. She still had a couple with a few credits on them, she was sure. She’d been saving them for food, but to get to the lowest levels fast she needed to take the X-press or hop, and that cost credits. 

The things she did for her friends were going to get her killed one day, she was sure. 

 

 

Feuilly had taken the captain’s chair when they took the ships, simply because he needed to get them out of there as fast as possible. It was as if the chair and command console granted him some sort of aura though, because Joly, Bossuet, and even Bahorel were deferring to him without question. Grantaire had taken the first officer’s chair and kept twisting his fingers together when he didn’t have something to do. 

“Can you take the controls for a bit?” Feuilly said casually. “Don’t let Bahorel near the guns.” 

Grantaire laughed, a short bark with little amusement, but obligingly took Feuilly’s place when he stood up and left the bridge. The other three watched him as he went past, but said nothing. 

The ship wasn’t large, and it wasn’t difficult to find the captain’s cabin. It had a lock on the inside of the door, which Feuilly used, and he felt a moment’s disgust at the opulence of the place before he went into the small bathroom and stared at his face in the mirror. 

There was blood on his neck. No one had told him. Perhaps no one had seen. 

No, they couldn’t have missed it. 

He touched it with his fingertips, turning his head to see it better. It had crusted a little on his skin, and he shuddered and started tearing off his clothes. If he was in this obscenely expensively-furnished cabin, he might as well take advantage of the facilities. He stepped into the disinfection chamber and pressed the button without looking at it. When water fell from the showerhead instead of the usual blue soap-spray, he was so shocked he nearly jumped out. As it was, he stopped the flow immediately and stared up at the showerhead in disbelief. 

There was water on this ship. Water enough to spare for a _shower_. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he muttered, his voice cracking. There were people dying of thirst in the lower levels of Lutia Space Station, but there was water enough to waste on soaking a G Captain’s slightly sweaty skin? There wasn’t even an option for the usual blue spray. He staggered out of the chamber and found a cloth, used it to soak as much water off the floor of the chamber as possible and squeezed it into a cup, unable to even consider pouring it away. The very idea was abhorrent. 

At least the sink ran blue. He held the cloth under the spray and rubbed it over his body, making sure to get rid of the blood on his neck. His hair was still dusty, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that. 

“Feuilly?” There was a knock from beyond the bathroom door, from the corridor outside. “Feuilly, are you in there?” 

“One second,” he called, grabbing his clothes and pulling his trousers on before going to the door and pulling it open. Joly raised his eyebrows at his undressed state. 

“Are you alright?” 

“I was going to take a spray,” Feuilly explained, rubbing a palm over his curls. 

“Why didn’t you?” 

Feuilly laughed. It was either that or cry. “You wouldn’t believe me.” 

Joly stepped in, intrigued. “Is it tinted?” Fifty credits would buy a standard tinting packet to add to a person’s spray tank, enough to make it smell good for up to five quick showers. 

Feuilly pulled his shirt on and swallowed, shaking his head. “Look.” He led Joly into the bathroom and showed him the cup of water. Joly stared at it, then at the disinfection chamber. 

“No. That _didn’t_ come from there.” 

“It did.” Feuilly put the cup down and sat on the toilet, suddenly exhausted. “They have water in their spray tanks.” 

“That’s so _unhygienic_!” Joly breathed, and Feuilly chuckled, then started to laugh. Joly’s expression was a picture of repulsion, and it was so _Joly_ to think not of the astronomic waste of such an act, but the medical disadvantages. “Oh my God, how many times do you think it’s gone through their filtration system?” He was starting to look positively _ill_. “Oh my…it must get mixed in with their piss as well. That’s disgusting!” 

“But it’s still water.” Feuilly stopped grinning and stared at the cup of clear, clean liquid that would cost the average stationer about twenty credits. Perhaps even thirty – it was utterly transparent, like liquid crystal. He’d never seen such clean water in his life. And the G was using it on their skin and pouring it down the plughole. 

Joly obviously sensed how close he was to despair, because he took Feuilly’s arm and pulled him upright. “Come on. If you leave Grantaire alone much longer he might try and contact the other ship, and then we’ll really be in trouble.” 

“Because breaking into a secure Guardhouse and making off with their fastest ships is nothing in comparison to breaking radio silence,” Feuilly snorted. Not to mention the guards they’d killed, and the many more they might have injured. He shivered and pushed down his horror at what had happened. He could deal with it later. 

“The first offence will only earn you execution,” Joly shrugged. “The second gets you a lecture from Enjolras. Which would you prefer?” 

Feuilly snickered and threw his arm around Joly’s shoulder. “I’d rather face a platoon of G’s all on my own, and you know it.” 

When this was over, and their mission was complete, he would deliver the water in this ship to the lower levels with the nutrition cargo. Down in the deeper decks, even a drop of water was like the most precious treasure. He would bring water to the people, and maybe that would make up for the lives they had taken today. 

 

 

They reached the Subspace Channel in record time. They had agreed to head for the Raknar Gate, an unmanned gateway in an awkward position. Only small ships like theirs could navigate the pressure holes set up as traps for any sky pirates seeking to divert a shipment. The only reason they made it through was because their ships were certified G shuttles. 

The ship Bossuet was on docked after Enjolras’ did, and he stood waiting next to Joly at the drop-door. Feuilly was guiding them in from the bridge, Bahorel was obviously itching to be doing something, and Grantaire was fidgeting anxiously. They all knew he wouldn’t relax until he saw that the others – and Enjolras in particular – were alright. They had been separated in the fight at the Guardhouse; their group split in half. They had originally intended only to take the one ship – the G’s one Starhorse model – but the plan had changed when they had got there and seen twin ships opposite each other in the docking stations. To leave one behind would be to invite the G to follow them and shoot them out of the sky. 

Enjolras had run for one, Feuilly another. At least Bossuet hadn’t lost Joly in the mess. He glanced at his friend and swayed a fraction closer, bumping their shoulders gently. Joly pressed back immediately, but they didn’t look at each other. They were lucky to have survived, they both knew that. A rag-tag group of students successfully attacking a Guardhouse was unheard of, but they had done it. So far, they had escaped with their lives. 

The G hadn’t been so lucky. Bossuet put his arm around Joly to steady himself as they touched down and the walls shook with the impact. He might have been clever, but Feuilly was no pilot. 

Then again, none of them were killers either, but they had managed that. 

Enjolras had been first, aiming carefully from their hiding place and getting the officer on duty with one shot. He had killed another as they rushed the docking stations, the bullet tearing through the guard’s unarmoured chest in a spray of blood. Bahorel had smashed a guard across the head so hard with the butt of his pistol that the man had been thrown to the floor. The sound of his neck cracking across a pipe would stay with Bossuet for the rest of his life. 

Feuilly had shot a man in the neck, and blood had spattered onto his own in almost exactly the same place. Bossuet didn’t know how many more had been killed or injured, but he had seen Jehan across the station with his hands dripping red, and several of them had fired their guns. 

Bossuet had fired his gun. Eight times. He had tried to aim at the guards’ legs, but in the chaos, he couldn’t be sure whether any of his bullets had found their marks. He might have killed someone without realising. 

Joly put his arm around his waist as they swayed together, and neither of them let go after the ship stood still and the door began to lower. Grantaire was walking down it almost before it was horizontal, and when it lowered enough, Bossuet could see him embracing Combeferre and Courfeyrac, an arm around each of them, and they were hugging him back tightly. Enjolras was behind them, clearly sharing a look with Grantaire over their shoulders. Before the door had touched the floor, Bossuet and Joly were running down it as well, Bahorel on their heels. 

Bossuet went straight for Jehan and wrapped his arms around the other man with a relieved grin. “Thank stars you’re all alright.” 

Joly grabbed his arm and pulled him and Jehan into the group hug with Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Grantaire, and now Bahorel. Cosette pulled Marius over and they joined in with twin smiles. 

“Come on, Enjolras,” Courfeyrac jerked his head, and Enjolras smiled reluctantly and came round to sling an arm over Bahorel’s shoulders. A few seconds later, Feuilly came running out and piled into Bossuet’s back with enough force to knock them all forward. In the middle of the pile, Grantaire grunted, but Bossuet could see the edge of his grin in the crush. 

They stayed like that for a good minute, pushing as close to each other as possible. Bossuet smushed his face into Jehan’s collar, curled his fist in Joly’s sleeve, and breathed in the smell of all of them together, alive and well. None of them had voiced the possibility that not everyone might have survived the attack on the Guardhouse. They hadn’t seen whether everyone had gotten on Enjolras’ ship, and they couldn’t ping them because the signal would tell the G exactly where they were. The uncertainty had been agony. 

But they were alive. Enjolras, Marius, Cosette, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Jehan. All alive and unscathed. Whole and unhurt. When they finally untangled themselves, no one was surprised to see Jehan crying, but there were tears on other faces as well – Cosette, Combeferre, and Feuilly all had tracks down their cheeks, and most of the others had distinctly watery eyes. Bossuet caught Joly’s eye and laughed, seeing Joly blinking back tears just like him. 

“Come on,” Enjolras cleared his throat and grabbed Feuilly’s arm. “We need to get to work.” The shipment would reach the Raknar Gate in just a couple of hours – they didn’t have much time. 

Bossuet grinned at Joly. “Let’s a build a Barricade.” 

The Barricade was a complex computer program that would disrupt the signal the Raknar Gate sent to the nutrition shipment after it came through the Yonkers Gate ahead, telling the ship’s computer to alter its course. That little alteration would instruct it to bypass the other gates and dock at the tenth deck instead of D deck. The docks on the tenth level were the lowest public docks in the station, rife with business of every kind. It was one of the busiest ports on Lutia, with little subways and slide-tunnels linking it to every slum in the station. It would be impossible for the G to shut it down in time to reclaim their cargo. If they tried, they would probably spark a civil war. 

But first the cargo had to have its course changed, and that was no mean feat. 

“Maybe you should sit this out,” Joly nudged him as they sat next to each other at adjacent porthubs. Joly was brilliant at hacking (partly due to his medical career), and Bossuet was always his spotter. “Don’t want your bad luck messing up the operation.” 

Bossuet snorted and linked in, eyes unfocusing as data began to stream across his vision. “Shut up. You wouldn’t make it two bytes without me.” 

“True,” Joly agreed amiably. “Alright, are we ready?” 

Bossuet took a deep breath and relaxed into the chair. “Ready.” He blinked and initiated the program that would connect his infoLink frequency to Joly’s. Such a procedure was dangerous – if one of them was corrupted, the other would be as well – but vital to the hack. As their frequencies aligned, Bossuet breathed out slowly. Through his infoLink, Joly was a reassuring presence that couldn’t be described in terms of physicality. Steady, sure, utterly confident, with none of the anxieties that frequently attacked him in the physical world, Joly was magnificent like this. 

Joly sent a line of code indicating his excitement which Bossuet reflected back at him with an additional line asking him to be careful. They did this before every hack together. Their last ritual out of the way, Bossuet started searching, concentrating everything on keeping Joly safe while Joly focused on infiltrating the Raknar Gate’s main computer. 

Distantly, he felt Combeferre’s frequency through the data streams, and even further away, Marius and Enjolras. When Cosette came online, he had to fight to keep his frequency with Joly’s, which never wavered for a second. Cosette was an expert defence coder, and her frequency was unusually bright. As Joly opened up the computer for Combeferre and Marius to implement their false programs, she and Enjolras built up layers and layers of Barricade code at their backs. While they worked, Bossuet kept his eyes open for any tricks or traps in the system. 

He caught several viruses and alarm systems, and disabled each one before they were tripped by Joly. One almost got past him, a horrible breed of firewall called a chameleon. They had always been a problem for him – up until the last moment, they looked like perfectly innocuous programs for things like communication nuances and record keeping. Then they would light up like little fireworks, sending corruption through every stream they were touching. They were a nightmare to catch, and Bossuet could hear himself panting, his body reacting to his mind’s strain as he chased each one and laboriously subdued them before they could reach anyone else’s frequency. 

Something touched his wrist, and he recognised the physical sensation of Joly’s hand distantly, as if through a thick fog. They wound their fingers together slowly, both concentrating hard on their separate tasks. The speed at which they had to work was truly brutal, and when Enjolras finally sent the all-clear, Bossuet was shocked to see how little time had passed. Brains worked faster than bodies, of course, so while it had felt like he had been working for hours, it had been no more than twenty minutes in real-time. 

“Close one there,” Joly was breathing heavily as well, and there was sweat on his forehead when Bossuet forced his eyes to move and look at him. “Was that a chameleon?” 

“I fucking hate chameleons,” Bossuet snapped, and Joly laughed, breathless with success. 

“Wait till I tell Chetta.” His face fell as he spoke, and Bossuet frowned, squeezing Joly’s hand. 

“What is it?” 

Joly’s shoulders slumped, and he looked down at his lap. “We argued yesterday. I’d forgotten.” 

Bossuet frowned. “Why didn’t you say?” 

Joly shrugged awkwardly. “Well, the attack happened. I didn’t really have time.” 

“Hey.” Bossuet shifted forward and lowered his voice so that they wouldn’t be overheard. “What happened?” Why hadn’t either of them told him? Joly squirmed, but Bossuet held his hand so he couldn’t slip away. “Joly?” Had they talked about him? Had he done something wrong? 

“It was about the hacking,” Joly muttered. “She doesn’t like how risky it is.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“What could you have done?” Joly sighed. “I didn’t want you upset as well.” 

Bossuet rolled his eyes and knocked his head against Joly’s. “You’re such an idiot sometimes.” 

“You love her too.” Joly bumped back. 

“As if I had a choice.” Bossuet closed his eyes and thought of Musichetta, her long limbs and dark eyes, the hair that always felt soft even though continuous blue spray showers damaged hair irreparably. He loved her hair. Loved to feel it on his own skin, touching his shoulders when she rode him, tickling his chest when he held her close. He had fallen in love with her the way he had fallen into her bed – with a nudge from Joly. “I love you both.” 

“Sap,” Joly teased, but he darted forward quickly to drop a kiss on Bossuet’s forehead. “You know I do too.” 

“Hoy! Hackers! Let’s get a move on!” Bahorel shouted nearby, and Bossuet got up and pulled Joly with him. 

“You heard him.” 

Neither of them spoke of Musichetta after that. They were both too aware of the fact that they might very well perish here, far out of her reach, and while they would at least have each other, she would have no one. There was a selfishness in putting yourself  in harm’s way for the greater good, Bossuet mused. Your death might benefit the people, but it would only ever hurt your loved ones. 

 

 

Bahorel wasn’t a hacker. He could use his infoLink for all manner of things, but complex code and programming was completely beyond him. He left that up to the professionals (or skilled amateurs, in this case), and got on with his own job. Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Jehan, and Grantaire weren’t hackers either, and they worked alongside him to strengthen the Raknar Gate’s physical defences while Enjolras and the others built the data-based Barricade. 

There were other preparations that had to be taken. The G wouldn’t just come at them through the uplinks – they would attack physically as well, and they needed to be ready for that when it came. The Raknar Gate wasn’t a battle station, and there was no way they could stop the G docking and coming in, but they could hold them off inside. The ships they’d stolen were small enough to dock in the shuttle ports on the other side of the gate from the main docking stations, and there was about half a mile of corridors and staircases between the sides. The G wouldn’t be able to use heavy weaponry or explosives inside the gate, and they couldn’t destroy it from their ship because one break in the chain would destroy the whole Subspace Channel. All in all, it was a very defensible place to fight from. The real problem would be getting out afterwards. 

After Marius and Combeferre had put the false programs in place, they got to work on disabling the elevators and automatic doorways. But hacking only got you so far. It was everyone else’s job to help build a physical barricade of whatever they could get their hands on, and they’d piled every item of furniture they could pry from the floor in the corridor leading to the main console room and the shuttle ports beyond it. The G would have to come at them from that direction – there was no other way. 

“They’re coming.” 

Bahorel looked at Marius, sitting utterly still in front of his porthub, linked into the system with Enjolras, Combeferre, Cosette, Joly, and Bossuet. They would fight in the data streams while the rest of them fought on the ground, holding off the physical attack. Courfeyrac and Feuilly were on top of the barricade already, Grantaire and Jehan at their backs. The main objective had been achieved – the shipment’s course had been altered. Now they needed to maintain the Barricade in order to keep it on that course. 

“You’re sure?” Courfeyrac asked. Marius nodded, eyes unfocused. 

“They’re about to dock,” Enjolras murmured. “Three platoons. They’re coming in now.” 

A low hum ran through the walls, and Bahorel shivered. With anticipation or fear, he couldn’t have said. “How many in three platoons?” he asked. 

“Sixty, minimum,” Courfeyrac told him, tightening his grip on his gun. “How long before they get here, Enjolras?” 

Enjolras didn’t reply, his attention elsewhere. Cosette spoke instead, the only female voice in the room. “All three ships have docked now. We’ll hear them coming. We should all link up.” 

“Yes,” Enjolras stirred himself. “Everyone link up. We need to stay in contact.” 

Bahorel sighed, but obligingly tuned his infoLink frequency into the communal wave. He immediately felt everyone else’s presence alongside him. They had to be careful now. The G would focus on the hackers first, trying to corrupt their frequencies, and if they succeeded, they would all be in danger of catching the spreading viruses. A corrupted infoLink was a death sentence. 

They all felt the strength of the G as they came online, wave after wave of them seeming to stretch back forever into the streams. _< Mirror effect,>_ Cosette sent to them. _< Ignore it_.> 

 _< IDENTIFY YOURSELVES_.> 

Bahorel winced at the force of the command and saw Jehan and Courfeyrac do the same. 

 _< LUTIA REVOLUTION.>_ Enjolras’ returning blast was just as strong. 

 _< INITIATE CORE CORRUPTION PROGRAM.>_ 

Bahorel experienced a brief flash of fear, but the hackers neutralised the first volley easily. “Forward!” Courfeyrac shouted from the top of the barricade, and Bahorel tried to ignore what was going on online in favour of focusing on their barricade. “Here they come,” Courfeyrac’s hand was trembling, but his expression was steady. 

Bahorel grinned and bellowed a war-cry into the dimly lit corridor. He could hear boots tramping towards them, and his blood was running hot. _This_ was what he was here for. Let the others fly around in the system; he was going to smash some heads. “Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough!” 

Beside him, Feuilly snorted, gallows humour taking hold. The onslaught on the Barricade intensified as the guards came around the corner, lines of six in strict formation. “Wait till they come closer,” Courfeyrac ordered. “Don’t waste ammunition.” 

The closer the better. Bahorel bared his teeth and cocked his gun. He was ready. 

“Take aim!” one of their commanders shouted. The front line knelt and raised their guns. “Fire!” 

The shock of the noise was like a punch to the face. Bahorel was the first to recover and shoot back, but the noise was disorientating, the dim corridor growing dark but for the flash of guns going off as the lights were shattered by misaimed bullets. Grantaire and Jehan were at his sides now, and he yelled a challenge, eyes wild and heart pumping. 

The guards came closer, suddenly at the foot of the barricade and beginning to climb up. Bahorel snarled and whipped one across the face with the muzzle of his gun, shooting it into the shoulder of another one. The man screamed, and Bahorel screamed too, reaching out to drag a uniformed guard towards him, unbalancing him before shoving him back to fall violently to the floor. 

“Hold the line!” Feuilly howled somewhere nearby. “Hold the line!” 

The attack on the Barricade turned into an onslaught through their infoLinks, and Grantaire shouted wordlessly into the corridor ahead as the Barricade line wavered…and broke. Enjolras, Cosette, and Bossuet were all thrown violently out of the data streams, their frequencies vanishing instantly. Bahorel panicked, smashing desperately at anything that came near him from over the barricade. A gun was levelled at Jehan, and Bahorel pulled him out of the way just in time. Feuilly’s shape to his left suddenly disappeared from view, dropping out of sight. 

 _< BACK!>_ 

Marius’ message was deafening, making everyone pause in their assault and flinch. _< GET BACK NOW.>_ 

A hand gripped his arm, tight with horror, and Bahorel realised why a second later as he recognised the frequency for an atom virus being readied for use. They were so called because there was no escaping them once they were activated – they would corrupt everyone hooked into the system in under a second, and the first sequence had already been activated, locking them helplessly in place. Marius was going to kill them all. 

 _< BACK OR I’LL ACTIVATE THE CODES,>_ Marius sent to everyone there, aiming it at the G. _< I’LL BLOW THE BARRICADE.>_ _  
_

_< BLOW IT UP AND TAKE YOURSELF WITH IT,>_ the commander sent back, uncharacteristically informal. 

There was a pause before Marius replied. _< And myself with it.>_ 

The second sequence began to flow through the uplink, and whoever was holding Bahorel’s arm gripped hard enough to leave bruises. 

 _< RETREAT.>_ The order was unsteady, shaken, and Bahorel watched in frozen terror as the guards slipped down and away from the barricade at the same time as their online presence receded, disappearing instantly when Marius retrieved the code he had released, letting them drop out. 

Bahorel disconnected immediately as well, still weak with fear. Courfeyrac had been the one holding his arm, he saw as the other man let go and practically fell down the barricade to run across to the porthubs. The others did the same, everyone yelling at Marius. 

“What the hell were you thinking, Marius?” Joly screamed, held back by a very shaken Bossuet. “You could have killed us!” 

“My life isn’t yours to risk, Marius!” Combeferre was sweating heavily. 

Bahorel started to shake and sank to the floor, unable to hold himself up. He could take physical violence and mayhem, but the threat of online corruption was too much. Jehan sat down next to him, his face ashen. They watched in silence as Enjolras and Cosette came to stand either side of Marius. He only seemed to come back to himself when she took his face in her hands and whispered something to him. A shudder ran through Marius’ body and he collapsed into her arms, Enjolras’ hand on his back. 

“He thought she’d been killed,” Jehan muttered. “And Enjolras and Bossuet.” 

Bahorel snorted, and started to laugh hysterically. The irony of it struck him as incredibly funny – if Marius had activated the atom virus, those three would have been the only survivors. He laughed until tears ran down his face, letting out all of his panic and fear in one torrential burst. 

They were alive. They were uncorrupted. For now, at least, but for him that was good enough. _For now_ was better than _gone_. 

 

 

“I’m not leaving!” Cosette was furious. How dare they try and send her away after everything she’d done for them? Marius was the one who’d nearly killed them all, not her. Why was she being punished? 

“It’s not punishment,” Enjolras told her, as if reading her mind. “And it’s not because you’re a woman, in case you thought it was. We need someone to get a message out to the station, and you and Combeferre are the only ones capable of getting past the G.” 

Cosette scowled, but didn’t ask why Combeferre couldn’t be sent – he was Enjolras’ right-hand man. It would be impossible for Enjolras to send him away now. She glanced around, but no one else was listening. No one else was on the ship, as far as she knew. Enjolras had asked her to meet him on the bridge of the one they had stolen because no one else would overhear, she realised now. So that Marius in particular would not overhear. 

“Have you told him?” she asked. They both knew who she meant. 

Enjolras looked away. “No. I wasn’t sure how to proceed. Whether to tell him myself or to let you break the news.” 

“He won’t like it.” 

“But he’ll have to accept it.” Enjolras shook his head with a frown. “This is the only way. They’ve blocked our transmissions so effectively…the only way is for you to slip past their defences and get back to Lutia. If they know what we’re doing, they’ll rise up and help us.” After the first attack had damaged the Barricade, the only way the nutrition shipment would make it to the station was if at least several hundred people added their frequencies to the signal before tomorrow afternoon at the latest, their strength breaking down the G’s defence systems and guiding the shipment in. Without them, the cargo would float off-course freely until the G simply picked it up and docked it up on the upper levels. 

Cosette looked at the command console and considered for a moment slipping away now, without telling Marius. She dismissed the idea as soon as it came into her mind – sneaking away was the coward’s way out. And if one or both of them died, wouldn’t it be better to have said a proper goodbye first? “I’ll tell him,” she said softly, and Enjolras nodded. 

“You understand why we have to do this?” 

“Of course.” She was the most talented defence coder in the ABC. Not even Combeferre could keep up with her when she was on a roll. She had a knack for the delicacy and concentration required – she was half sure her skills were the only reason she had been allowed to join in the first place after coming to the ABC through Marius. 

Enjolras put his hand on her shoulder, a gesture she had seen him give often to the others. “Thank you,” he said seriously, and she remembered again why everyone there would willingly follow him to their deaths. 

“Can you ask Marius to come here?” she asked, and he nodded silently before leaving. In the empty room, she went over to the command console and brushed her fingers over the touch-activated screens. They blinked into life at the motion like the ship was a living creature, and she sighed. The ship’s escape shuttle would be ideal for sneaking past unnoticed, but it would never make it back to the station in time. She would have to take the entire ship and pray that her skills stood up to trained G operatives. 

What if she was shot out of the sky? The people of the station knew that the ABC had stolen two ships, but they didn’t know why yet. If the G had its way, they would never know. The ABC would look like a group of greedy pirates and everything would continue as before. But if she could get through and upload the truth…even if the Barricade fell and the plan failed, even if everyone here was corrupted and killed and their lives wiped out forever, the people would know that they had at least tried. They would know that the ABC had risked everything for the sake of revolution. And that was the truly important thing. 

If she thought too long about the side-effects of that though, she wouldn’t be able to do this. To think about all of her friends here killed, to think of never seeing Marius again…it would break her resolve. She had to put the cause first.

“Cosette?” 

She turned and smiled sadly at Marius. He crossed the bridge in long strides and touched her face, worry in every line of his body. 

“What’s the matter? Enjolras said you needed to talk to me alone.” 

“I have to tell you before I tell the others.” She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face into his chest, wishing they could stay like this forever, floating beyond the reach of everyone else. 

“Tell me what?” Marius touched her hair and tilted her head up so that their eyes could meet. “Cosette?” 

She told him. He nearly broke there and then. Losing her in the attack on the Barricade had terrified him, she knew, and she had to resort to persuading him that she had a better chance of surviving if she escaped now. It was the only angle that would work at this point. Talking about the greater good would have been wasted on him. 

The others received the news more calmly, but there was still a level of worry for her she hadn’t known before, and even though she might be abandoning them to their fates, she was touched by their concern. It was impossible to hold back tears as she raised the drop-door of the ship, alone on the bridge. She was hooked into the ship’s system, out of their reach, and she started to cry in earnest as she started the engines and prepared to fly from the Raknar Gate. 

Escaping was easy enough for her. She blocked every signal her ship produced and cloaked it in silence. The take-off was the only dangerous moment – of course the G would see that one of the ships was leaving, but she lit the escape shuttle up like a beacon and sent it zipping off in the direction of the Yonkers Gate. It was feasible that she would go there – there was a public dock on Yonkers that would provide an excellent escape route for a group of desperate rebels. While the G sent a platoon after the shuttle, she kept her ship shrouded in silence and cloaking programs, disabling each G ping that tried to pin down her location with deft coding, drifting until she was sure they were too far away to easily pursue her. Then she powered up the engines and roared through the sky as fast as she could, hurrying back to the station at top speed. 

She forged a supply cargo signal as soon as she got in range of the station and docked with no trouble at all. She locked up the ship and hooked into the station’s system immediately, pinging Éponine as strongly as she could while she hurried through the streets of the lower levels to where Musichetta lived. 

It was bizarre to see everyone going about their daily business without a clue of what was happening beyond the station limits. Éponine wasn’t answering, but Cosette found her way to Musichetta’s easily enough. The other woman cried out when she opened to door, and they fell into each other’s arms immediately. 

“Are they alright?” Musichetta asked desperately. “Are they alive?” 

“Everyone’s fine. Not even seriously hurt beyond cuts and bruises.” Cosette was so glad she could say that at least. Musichetta’s relief was so intense she nearly started crying. 

“What are you _doing_ here?” Musichetta asked as soon as she collected herself. She ushered Cosette into her room and shut the door quickly behind them. “How did you get away? Where the hell did you go?” 

Cosette shook her head and tried to answer as quickly as possible. “We went to the Raknar Gate to divert a nutrition shipment to the docks on the fifth deck. They’re all still there, but I had to come back because no one here knows what’s happening, and if they don’t know they won’t help, and the boys will die for nothing. Do you know where Éponine is?” 

Musichetta nodded. “She went looking for her brother, but I can reach her on a private signal.” 

“Yes,” Cosette ran a hand through her hair. “We need to move as fast as possible.” The ship she’d locked in the docks would be proof of what the boys had done, and she had something even better than that – visual footage of the barricade and the scene in at Raknar Gate. Incontrovertible proof of what they were doing. Joly had given her a package of codes to unleash on the station’s public information system to keep it off her back while she uploaded the truth onto the public channels. 

“Éponine’s on her way,” Musichetta told her, making a visible effort to stay calm. “We’ll figure this out, and the people will rise, just like the boys always say.” And they’d all survive, Cosette knew Musichetta wanted to add. Their men would come out alive and unharmed, bright and confident as always. 

She took a deep breath and sat down. It was all on her now, resting on her shoulders. And if she failed, they would lose everything. 

 

 

Such expensive alcohol had never passed Grantaire’s lips before. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. The wine they’d brought out of the ships was strange – too sweet and full of flavour. He was used to drinking out of bottles with purposefully dark glass so that you couldn’t see what colour the contents were. The posh stuff was doing the job alright though. At least there was that. 

Marius was in a haze, walking up and down the length of the barricade and trying to improve the structure here and there. Enjolras had to go up to him and take his arm to get him to stop and rest. They all needed sleep after such a terrifying day. Grantaire looked around and smiled humourlessly. They weren’t as jolly now the real possibility of death had come to sit at their door. Usually he’d be the one to try and cheer them all up with some of his usual antics, getting a smile out of Joly and a frown from Enjolras, if he looked at Grantaire at all. 

He would have survived the day’s attack, briefly. Grantaire sat against the wall and watched him across the room, sitting next to Combeferre and Jehan. Enjolras, Bossuet, and Cosette would have survived the atom virus. And then the G would have recovered, climbed over the barricade, and shot them all, whether their infoLinks were corrupted or not. It wasn’t like it was impossible to exist without an infoLink, after all. Your body and mind could still function. But an infoLink was needed for _everything_. Without one, simple things like possessing money, getting into public buildings, and talking to people beyond your immediate surroundings were impossible. 

Grantaire had seen the linkless before, huddled like animals in the streets, begging for food and water that no one could spare. The lowest levels were kept deliberately cold by the government to freeze them to death. Few people cared enough to protest the cruelty, but Grantaire had managed to attach himself to the one group in the station who cared about every injustice dealt out, and there weren’t exactly a shortage of those. 

“Here’s to us.” Feuilly said suddenly, lifting his bottle with a grin. “We built a Barricade. They can’t ignore that. Here’s to the ABC!” 

“Here’s to Cosette.” Joly nodded, raising his own drink. “To Éponine and the other women on the station.” 

“To our woman,” Bossuet added, holding Joly’s gaze. “To Musichetta!” 

“Here’s to them,” Grantaire pushed himself to his feet and indicated beyond the barricade with his bottle. “Here’s to the sorry bastards who can’t disobey orders. Here’s to their families, who’ll get the news of their deaths. Here’s to our families, when they get the news of ours.” Not that his own would care. He considered hurling the bottle at the barricade, letting it smash and soak the crude structure, but that would be a waste of good alcohol. Instead, he drank it and ignored his friends’ downcast faces as he turned away, going to the open mouth of the ship. He couldn’t do this anymore. Not tonight, when they were standing in their own graves. 

Enjolras appeared in front of him and caught Grantaire’s arm when he went to walk past him. “Grantaire.” 

Grantaire turned his head to stare at him. How many times had he gazed at Enjolras without the other man looking back? He was looking now. “Do you think I don’t know we’re all going to die?” he said, not bothering to lower his voice. “Do you think they don’t?” he glanced over his shoulder at the silent members of the ABC. 

“I’m not afraid to die for a cause I believe in.” 

Of course he wasn’t. “Even if you’re the only one?” Grantaire couldn’t stop himself talking now. “How many frequencies do we need? A hundred? A thousand? No one will risk it, Enjolras. Doesn’t that scare you? Don’t you fear that it will all have been for nothing? That you’ll have wasted your lives on this cause none of the people care about?” He shook off Enjolras’ hand and walked into the ship, letting the empty bottle slip from his fingers and fall to the floor with a clank as he turned the corner out of their view. He didn’t expect Enjolras to follow him and move in front of him again. 

“It isn’t for nothing,” he insisted harshly. “Even if the people don’t rise, this won’t have been for nothing. We’ve proved so much already. Untrained and unprepared, we’ve rattled the cage. We’re paving the way for more people to rise up and take our places.” 

“You’ll pave the way with your bodies.” Grantaire shook his head, mentally recoiling at the image. “I don’t want you to die. I don’t want _any_ of you to die.” 

“If you don’t count yourself among us, why stay?” Enjolras asked, eyes hard. 

Damn him. Grantaire wanted to touch him so badly. And why not? If they were to fall, why not? So he reached out and put his hand on Enjolras’ neck, curling his fingers into the hair there and holding on. “What else can I do?” he asked softly. “Escape back to the station? Drink myself to death in some run-down starhouse while you get shot to pieces up here? I can’t leave. I stay for you.” Enjolras was silent. His skin was warm under Grantaire’s hand, his hair soft against his knuckles. “Can I kiss you?” he asked impulsively. “In case we die. I just want to know what it feels like. With your permission,” he added quietly. 

Enjolras’ lips parted as though he was going to speak, but then he just moved forward slightly. It was permission granted, Grantaire thought, torn between despair and giddiness, shocked at his own daring, and leaned forward to press their lips together. Enjolras’ mouth was so soft, so warm. He moved it, taking Grantaire’s lower lip between his just enough for Grantaire to feel a hint of wetness, their noses pushed against each other, breath warm between them. It was over too soon, but he hadn’t been given more. He stepped back and let his hand drop reluctantly from Enjolras’ neck. He met Enjolras’ eyes for a brief moment before looking down, nodding, and turning away. It was more than enough. And even if he only got to treasure the memory for a day or so before they were killed, he would treasure it all the same. 

“Grantaire –” A hand on his shoulder pulled him around again, and Enjolras was there when he turned, right in front of him, their chests almost touching. What was he doing? Grantaire breathed shallow and quick, not quite daring to meet Enjolras’ eyes again as he moved a fraction closer, hand tightening on Grantaire’s shoulder. He leaned forward until their noses brushed against each other and said, “This isn’t in case we die.” 

Grantaire swallowed and pulled back enough to look at him properly. “Then what is it?” 

“In case we live.” Enjolras swayed close again, and Grantaire barely had time to let his eyelids fall closed before they were kissing again, fierce and hot, mouths open and desperate. Grantaire’s mind was exploding, his body on fire wherever Enjolras touched it, but he didn’t dare stop or pull away to question it. He couldn’t. _Enjolras_ had started this. Enjolras was pushing him against the wall and pinning him there, sliding his tongue into Grantaire’s mouth and pressing their fronts together from chest to thigh. God, Enjolras was – 

“Enjolras,” he breathed out loud as soon as their lips parted, “Enjolras…” Enjolras kissed him again, hard, and Grantaire finally moved his hands from Enjolras’ shoulders, one sliding down Enjolras’ back to pull him closer, the other coming up to cup his face. How long had he wanted to touch that face? How long had he wanted this? 

Of course, getting something this good couldn’t come without a price, and Grantaire wouldn’t be himself if he couldn’t question good things. So when they broke apart again with a gasp, he asked, “Why?” 

Enjolras blinked, frowning slightly. “What?” 

Grantaire swallowed, feeling the effects of the wine. “Not that I’m not…spectacularly overwhelmed and delighted and all that, but…” he shook his head and focused on meeting Enjolras’ gaze. “Why?” 

Enjolras was silent for a long moment, and Grantaire’s heart began to sink. It was fine, he told himself firmly. He’d asked for a kiss, and he’d received one. Two, in fact. It was more than he’d expected. He should be grateful for what he’d been granted. He told himself this, but his hands trembled with wanting to be on Enjolras’ body again, and his lips were wet and warm from Enjolras’ mouth. He was just a greedy person, he supposed. He always wanted more. 

So he didn’t protest when Enjolras pressed their foreheads together and gave him another bruising kiss. “‘Why’, yourself.” 

“What?” Grantaire struggled to make sense of that, but couldn’t keep his mind on track when Enjolras was pressing open-mouthed kisses to his jaw. “Fuck, Enjolras…” 

“Stay with me,” Enjolras said against his skin, close to his ear. His hair curled against Grantaire’s face, tickling his chin. “Tonight. Stay with me.” 

Something inside him burned brightly, hot and sudden, and Grantaire put his hand against Enjolras’ face and tilted it to kiss him. Losing himself and stalling at the same time, because how could this be real? “I’m yours,” he whispered when they drew apart. “Don’t you know that?” 

Enjolras’ eyes blazed, and he grabbed Grantaire’s hand. Grantaire let himself be led deeper into the ship, into the captain’s private cabin. The moveable furniture in here had been taken away already for the barricade, but the captain’s bed was built into the floor, and the mattress was too big to get out of the narrow doorway, so they’d left it there. Grantaire fell backwards onto it when Enjolras pushed, not hard, and stared. 

“‘Why’, yourself,” Enjolras muttered again, falling down next to him and kissing his jaw. Grantaire laughed, suddenly dizzy. 

“Because it’s you. You’re like the sun. But why…” he shivered as Enjolras hooked a leg between his and pressed against him. “Hnng. I don’t understand…hah, fuck…you don’t care about –” _Me_ , he almost said, would’ve said, if Enjolras hadn’t covered his mouth with his own. _You don’t care about me._  

“I care.” Enjolras’ voice was as soft and calm as if he was discussing some inane task with Combeferre or Marius. “I’m human too.” 

“Bullshit.” Grantaire could _feel_ just how human he was though, and he grinned breathlessly and pushed up, rolling them until he was the one looking down at Enjolras, fingers touching the edges of the blonde curls haloing out on the pale sheets. “You’re a statue, remember?” 

“Still waters run deep.” Enjolras made a visible effort to relax. “And it’s harder to cut stone than flesh.” 

It took a moment for Grantaire to muddle through the metaphors, as he was still a little drunk. “Fuck. I did not expect this when I asked for a kiss.” 

“Am I disappointing you?” Anyone who did not make it his business to watch Enjolras so closely and know him so well would have missed the tightness in his voice, and the way his spine straightened just a fraction. But Grantaire _had_ made it his business, so he dropped down on his elbows to kiss Enjolras instead of letting him go, covering him until Enjolras relaxed properly, one of his hands sliding into Grantaire’s hair. 

It was already so easy. Grantaire would never have believed it possible, but it was so easy to move on instinct, to push and yield back and forth. He pinned Enjolras down with his weight and Enjolras held him there so that he couldn’t move away. God, he was beautiful. Strong, golden, and so _alive_. For now, at least, they were both alive. 

“If we live,” Enjolras tipped them so they were lying next to each other on the bed, facing each other in the darkness, “I’ll try and explain a little better.” 

But they weren’t going to live. Grantaire sighed, deciding not to say so, and watched in silent appreciation as Enjolras sat up and slid his waistcoat off, then his empty holsters and his shirt. He sat up as Enjolras pulled the material up his back and over his head, following its movement and inhaling as the skin was revealed. He forgot to ask whether he could touch before he put his hand over the base of Enjolras’ spine, but Enjolras just leaned forward and hummed. 

Permission granted, it seemed. 

They didn’t have sex. Not that Grantaire had expected it (he hadn’t even expected Enjolras to grant him the kiss), but there was also a conspicuous lack of lube or anything else, and they were both tired. Instead, Enjolras allowed Grantaire to touch him. He spent the better part of an hour stroking his hands down the planes of Enjolras’ back, trailing fingers down his legs, pressing reverent kisses to the arches of his feet and the softness of his stomach. The alcohol’s influence faded as they lay there, Enjolras moving whenever Grantaire nudged him, wordlessly asking him to expose another length of skin to his examinations. 

It wasn’t chaste, by any means, but it wasn’t carnal either. It was more an act of worship. By the time Enjolras moved lazily, pushing Grantaire’s shirt from his shoulders and tugging his trousers off, Grantaire was practically sober, and for once he felt blessed rather than strained by the condition. He wanted to be sober for this. He wanted to commit every second to memory, something to give him courage when they faced their deaths tomorrow. Perhaps that was what Enjolras wanted as well; he didn’t know, and didn’t ask. 

Enjolras slept with his back to him, pulling Grantaire’s chest against his back and pressing into him, holding Grantaire’s arm in place over his waist. Grantaire closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, breathing in the smell of disinfectant on Enjolras’ skin, dust and metal and the tang of gunpowder in his hair. He pressed his mouth against the curve where Enjolras’ neck became his shoulder and prayed to gods he didn’t believe in for the chance to at least die by Enjolras’ side, if they couldn’t escape the lonely barricade his friends had built on dreams and false hope. If he wished for anything now, it was for the chance to stand with Enjolras at the end and fall at his feet when they failed. He would be content with that, he thought. He would be content with that. 

 

 

They had dismantled the bunks in the ships for the barricade, and Combeferre was glad that everyone seemed to have made the unspoken decision to drag the mattresses outside and sleep on them there. They had the excuse of the barricade needing guarding, of course, but they could have easily done that in shifts. He knew they just wanted to be close to each other. 

It was late. Actually, more like early. He was keeping an eye on both barricade and Barricade, one with his eyes and ears, the other through his infoLink. The others were either asleep, or pretending to be. Combeferre kept checking them, almost obsessively. Courfeyrac was on a mattress only a few feet away, curled up under a blanket like a child. Jehan was just beyond him, and Feuilly was on his other side. Combeferre had arranged it like that – he wanted Jehan to fall asleep bracketed by his friends. 

Marius was curled up at the foot of the barricade itself in what looked like an extremely uncomfortable position. Joly and Bossuet were back-to-back near the barricade as well, and Bahorel was near them, his gun cradled in his hands as he snored. Grantaire and Enjolras were the only ones missing; had been since earlier when Grantaire had argued with him and stalked off into the ship. Enjolras had followed, and neither had emerged. 

Combeferre hoped they had found a slice of peace together amid the chaos and fear. God knew they all deserved that. Privately, he was still too scared to even try to sleep. He’d always been one to be visited by unpleasant visions and nightmares in the darkness, and after today he couldn’t face it. Better to stay awake, even if that meant he wouldn’t be at his peak tomorrow. 

Likely it wouldn’t matter, as Grantaire had said. Even if Cosette had reached the station (he hoped, God he hoped she had reached the station) there was no guarantee that the people would rise. There had been nothing so far. Not a whisper, not even a flicker of code or a distant friendly frequency. 

Only the unfolding of the atom virus. 

Combeferre shivered at the memory. He was an extremely skilled technician, though Joly was the better hacker and Cosette was more adept at weaving codes of defence, but Marius had a gift for improvisation that could be truly breathtaking. There were few people indeed who could build an atom virus in a foreign system in just a few seconds. True, Combeferre was one of them, but he would never have dared to actually do it. 

Being linkless was his greatest fear. He would gladly die rather than exist without an infoLink. He’d had his installed at a younger age than most – only one and a half years old – and he couldn’t remember a time without it. Hooking into a system was first nature to him, the sensation of sliding weightlessly through endless streams of data and building complex rows of code from nothing something pure and beautiful that nothing in the physical world could compare to. 

If Marius had activated the atom virus… 

A sound caught his attention, and he glanced over at Jehan automatically. He had been the one most affected by the attack in the Guardhouse – Combeferre had seen him shoot a man in the chest at such close range that the man’s chest had practically caved in. Jehan had tried to save him, couldn’t believe what he’d done. It was probably more of an accident that he’d pulled the trigger than a conscious action, Combeferre reflected. But Jehan was still bearing the guilt on the outside the way Combeferre was bearing it on the inside. 

But Jehan wasn’t the one making the sounds, he saw now. It was Courfeyrac, his face turned to Combeferre in the darkness, screwed up and scared in sleep. Combeferre hesitated, and as he did Courfeyrac whimpered, blanket crumpling as he clutched it in his fist from underneath. Decided, Combeferre slid down from his vantage point and crawled over, hand outstretched and ready to shake Courfeyrac awake. 

Before he got close enough, Courfeyrac gasped and his eyes flew open. For a second they stared at nothing, and then he burst into motion, scrambling up to look around the room. “Courfeyrac,” Combeferre whispered, and the other man turned his still-scared gaze on him. “It’s alright. It was just a dream.” 

Courfeyrac absorbed that slowly, then sat up and bent his head, shaking slightly. “You’re on watch?” 

“I’m the only one awake now, I think,” Combeferre nodded. “Apart from you, now.” 

Courfeyrac sniffed and pushed a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “I think the waiting is the worst thing.” 

Combeferre nodded. “I know what you mean. I always thought that…I don’t know, that it would be faster. A burst of glory or something.” Of victory or defeat, he didn’t know. Couldn’t have said. 

“Not mattresses and barricades made of tables,” Courfeyrac snorted weakly. After a moment, “I hope Cosette made it.” 

Combeferre nodded and slid closer, wanting to be nearer. Courfeyrac understood and shifted up to make room on the mattress for them to sit shoulder-to-shoulder. They had all become very touchy since starting this. Physical contact was somehow more reassuring of another’s presence than the evidence eyes or infoLinks could provide. 

“Where’s Enjolras?” Courfeyrac asked quietly. “And Grantaire?” 

“Still inside. They haven’t come out.” 

“You don’t think Grantaire finally made a move, do you?” 

“Either that or Enjolras is still trying to persuade our cynic that the cause is worth fighting for.” Combeferre smiled. “God knows he’s capable of going on for four hours, or however long it’s been.” 

Courfeyrac chuckled and they fell into a companionable silence. They probably knew Enjolras better than any of the others. Combeferre had certainly been friends with him for the longest, and Courfeyrac had aligned himself with them so easily that it had seemed like fate. The three of them, united, could come up with the greatest schemes and most devilish ideas. It had been the three of them who devised the plan to come out to a gate and divert a shipment before it even reached official Lutian airspace. Mohammed going to the mountain, Courfeyrac had called it, and they had laughed and congratulated each other on their cleverness, on their daring. 

No one was laughing now, but there was still hope, however slim, and Combeferre still wanted to believe that the people would come to their aid. 

Courfeyrac yawned. “I’m going to try and sleep again, okay?” 

“Okay.” Combeferre moved off the mattress, but stayed sitting on the floor next to it while Courfeyrac lay down. They both knew he didn’t have to stay, but both preferred it this way. Combeferre would keep watch while the others slept. He watched Courfeyrac’s face as he slipped back into sleep, relaxing bit by bit until he was dreaming again, hopefully more peaceful than the one which had woken him up. 

Combeferre sighed and looked over at the others scattered through the room. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to do the right thing, to fight and willingly shed blood for the people he loved, but God, he was scared. He’d never been so scared in his life. 

 

 

Combeferre’s first words to Enjolras the next morning were, “They’re rallying. They’ll attack again soon.” 

Enjolras frowned. “Did you sleep?” 

“No.” Combeferre looked at him with a twist of his mouth. “Couldn’t even try. You?” 

Enjolras thought of Grantaire and the softness of the bed they had fallen into together. The reverent way Grantaire had touched him. His expression, wild, a mixture of disbelief and adulation as Enjolras undressed him. The taste of his mouth, the smoothness of his skin, the solid bulk of his body at Enjolras’ back, breathing steady and heartbeat even. More comforting than Enjolras could have believed possible. Certainly more beautiful than Grantaire himself realised. 

Enjolras had woken first and watched Grantaire for a while before leaving him, examining the thing Grantaire’s request for a kiss had awoken inside him. A yawning chasm of want and need that he’d hidden so well from everyone that they’d all begun to think him a statue, and he’d been fine with that until Grantaire had made him want to feel more than marble could receive. 

“A little. How soon will they attack, can you tell?” 

Combeferre shook his head, apologetic. “I can just tell that they’re preparing for a surge of activity. We certainly don’t have another day. But they’re wary now, thanks to Marius. He’s bought us a lot of time.” 

The gratitude was a little grudging, and Enjolras understood that. Not even he had expected Marius to do something as reckless as prepare an atom virus on the spot. It had been fear as he’d never experienced it before; being violently ejected from the system and having to watch helplessly as his friends were trapped inside it, out of his reach. They had recognised the pattern of a powerful virus on the screens, and the way everyone had immediately frozen had told them that it was an atom. No other virus was as deadly or fast. And Marius had pulled one into existence in under five seconds. 

Bossuet had run immediately to Joly, almost weeping with fear. Enjolras had been as frozen as his friends, realising that they could all be destroyed in seconds. Everyone he held dear ravaged from the inside out, collapsing like puppets with their strings cut. A corrupted infoLink would, at best, leave its user incapable of being part of society, the ultimate pariah. At its worst, it would render the user a vegetable. Marius’ virus would probably have been of the second variety, being so desperately and quickly cobbled together. 

The thought was horrifying to Enjolras, but the crisis had passed. They were all alive. Cosette had probably reached the station by now, and she and Éponine would do whatever it took to spread the news. As long as they were successful, the people would come, their frequencies shining across space to protect them. 

It was better to believe that than entertain the idea that the news would break and the people would not act. 

Enjolras was only human, after all. He experienced doubt as well. He was just more careful to keep it hidden. 

“There’s something else as well,” Combeferre added in an undertone. 

Enjolras frowned. “What?” 

“Probably better discussed inside.” Combeferre jerked his head at the ship, and Enjolras nodded. As they went, he beckoned to Courfeyrac. If it was important enough to be hidden from the others, he at least wanted his other lieutenant to hear it. Combeferre nodded at the decision and led the way inside, around the corner. There was no need to go further. 

“What’s going on?” Courfeyrac looked between them. Enjolras nodded at Combeferre, who spoke. 

“When they attack, we’re going to need someone either at the command console or the bridge in here to keep an eye on the frequencies coming our way. Someone needs to be here to maintain the connection and keep it clean and strong.” None of them mentioned the possibility that the frequencies wouldn’t come at all. 

“Behind the lines, out of the way of the fighting,” Courfeyrac clarified. “Someone we’ll need to protect.” 

“Jehan,” Enjolras said immediately. “He’s good enough. He could do it.” And they all wanted to keep him safe. He wasn’t technically the youngest of the group, but he was the most innocent. If one person could emerge intact from this situation, Enjolras would want it to be Jehan. 

“I thought that,” Combeferre didn’t nod like Courfeyrac, “but I’m not so sure.” 

“Why not?” Courfeyrac asked, frowning. “Don’t you think he could do it?” 

“That’s not the problem.” Combeferre took a deep breath. “If we consider the worst-case scenario, and the barricades are both overrun, and we’re all defeated, Jehan would be the one alive at the end.” 

Enjolras’ heart sank. “They would keep him alive.” 

“There’d be a trial,” Courfeyrac looked sick. “It could take months. They’d disable his infoLink afterwards, or execute him.” 

“Publically,” Combeferre added. They were silent for a moment at the thought of sweet, charming Jehan being forced through trials and tests and possibly torture, the scapegoat of their whole operation. 

“Not Jehan,” Enjolras nodded. But who, then? As their leader, he made a point of knowing them well, of understanding their limits and recognising their skills. Occasionally, they surprised him, like Marius yesterday, but on the whole he had the measure of them, and he ran quickly through the possibilities in his head. 

Bahorel was out – he was too flighty, and not a good enough coder to maintain such a difficult connection. That ruled out Courfeyrac as well, and possibly Feuilly. Marius was definitely an option, and if he survived, Cosette might be able to find a way to get to him. But he was also distracted since her departure. Too much of a wild card to be the first choice. 

Joly had more than enough skill to man the controls, but he and Bossuet were partners, and he couldn’t let them both out of defending the barricades when they needed every man they could get. Splitting them up wasn’t even an option at this point. 

He met Combeferre’s eyes. Either of them could do it. Enjolras was a competent coder; nowhere near Combeferre’s level, but above average, and Combeferre was his go-to man for any technical challenges. But neither of them wanted to be kept away from the front line. Enjolras was their tactical leader, and Combeferre his second-in-command. He relied too heavily on him and Courfeyrac in confrontations to allow either of them to sit out. Combeferre’s frequency aligned with his in the system, and Courfeyrac stood at his side in the physical world. Enjolras himself moved equally in both. 

But Combeferre had already made a decision. Enjolras and Courfeyrac could both see that he’d crunched the numbers and come up with his own name, and they both shook their heads, unable to reconcile the idea of standing without him. 

“I’ll do it.” 

They all turned, and Enjolras remembered belatedly that he’d left Grantaire in bed. He’d obviously heard the whole conversation. Enjolras hadn’t figured him into his calculations from force of habit – Grantaire was simply too unreliable to be given any serious responsibility – but his treacherous mind quickly ran the possibility. Grantaire _was_ perfectly capable of performing the task. He rarely joined them through his infoLink because he was usually too drunk to navigate the tricky lines of code and data with them, but Enjolras knew that his abilities were sharp when he was sober, if a little rough around the edges. 

He couldn’t say a word, but Courfeyrac spoke for him. “Grantaire, no, you’re needed at the front.” 

“No, I’m not.” Grantaire was calm, utterly composed as he came towards them. “I’m not a great marksman, and I’m not as skilled online as you are. But I could do this.” 

Combeferre shook his head. “But if the Barricade falls, Grantaire…they’ll kill us, you know. And they’ll take you prisoner. They’d torture you.” 

Grantaire smiled, and something in Enjolras’ chest hurt at the sharp, humourless edge of it. “I’d like to see them try. I’m not Jehan. I can turn on them if they come after me, and if needs be, I can turn on myself.” 

Enjolras’ fingers twitched, his body rebelling at the thought. Grantaire noticed and his smile became a little more genuine as he turned to Enjolras, who shook his head. “No.” 

“I’m your best option.” Grantaire had obviously considered the others as well, and come to the same conclusions as Enjolras. “If it’s hopeless,” he said softly, only to Enjolras although the other two were right there, “I’ll come out and join you. But as long as there are frequencies coming through, I’ll be there. I’m sober. I can do it. And if we fall, I’ll kill myself.” He shrugged, as if it was something easy he’d already considered. “Corrupt my own infoLink and put a bullet in my head. They’ll get nothing from me.” 

Enjolras wanted to say _no_ again. Wanted to pull Grantaire away and kiss him again, to tell him that his life was worth more than that. But he forced himself to swallow and ask, “You’d be able to do that?” 

Grantaire grinned. “If you were all dead, what would be the point of hanging around? I won’t hesitate.” He spoke it like a promise. Enjolras wished he wouldn’t. “I wouldn’t be scared.” 

Enjolras glanced at Combeferre and Courfeyrac. They both looked reluctant, but Courfeyrac nodded. “He’s got the best shot.” 

“They won’t attack for at least a few hours,” Combeferre said. “I’ll keep watching.” 

“Get Joly to see if he can infiltrate them,” Enjolras said, asking them to leave without saying so. They understood and walked away, leaving him alone with Grantaire, who looked amused, as if he hadn’t declared himself prepared to commit suicide if necessary. “There’s still time,” Enjolras said, not sure which of them he was trying to persuade. “There’s still hope.” 

Grantaire shook his head and continued to smile tiredly, looking away from Enjolras. “I wish I could believe that. But I guess we’ll see.” 

“Why can’t you?” Enjolras moved closer. 

“Humankind is not an inspiring race.” Grantaire lifted and dropped a shoulder, a slightly helpless shrug. “I don’t believe in any of them. I only have faith in you.” 

Enjolras touched his cheek, put just enough pressure there to make Grantaire look at him. “For my part,” he said quietly, “I hope we live.” He looked at Grantaire’s lips, knowing Grantaire would see. “May I –?” 

“You don’t have to ask,” Grantaire moved closer, as if magnetised. “You never have to ask.” 

Enjolras was prepared to give his life for the sake of the people. But now, he wished with equal fervour that such an act wouldn’t be necessary. 

 

 

Gavroche hurled a chunk of metal at a lamp and relished the sound of the shatter. What could be better than a riot to really kick things off? He’d seen Cosette’s message through the public info channel. Everyone had – it had been broadcasted with an emergency signal to compel people to watch. The ABC was on its own, fighting for the scum of the lower decks, fighting against the G to send them desperately needed food. Everyone knew. People were talking about it, the lines buzzing with chatter. 

Gavroche had been told by Musichetta to get down to the nearest Guardhouse and report back on their movements. On the way, he was taking immense pleasure in spreading the good news. “ABC!” he shouted at the top of his voice, taking another chunk of scrap metal from his pocket and throwing it at another light. The bulb fizzed and popped before dying, and he whooped, screeching at the top of his lungs. 

“Do you see the ABC, do you hear the people roar?” he chanted, knocking on the doors as he ran past them with a metal pole he’d picked up that morning. “Are you gonna stand with us? Show that you won’t take no more?” 

A flick of his tongue linked him into the live feed from the docks, where Cosette had parked her stolen ship. She was giving out water for free, by the cupful, and Gavroche marvelled at the decadence of it. The amount of water in that ship was worth _millions_. 

 _< The G uses water to **wash.** >_

The message sang through the signal, and Gavroche grinned at the furious surge of frequencies that rose up in its wake. He wasn’t that surprised, really, but it seemed that some people didn’t know their government at all. Not like he did. He was only a step up from the linkless, after all. Number-level scum through and through. 

“Smash their windows, burn their homes,” he shouted, legs pumping, “free the signal, free our bones!” 

He quietened down as he ran through the Tvayt district, not wanting to alert any cops to his presence. As he was running, a trip he’d set on his infoLink to inform him of any official frequencies nearby pinged, and he skidded to a stop to check it. It was a copper’s frequency, and Gavroche hacked it quickly – until he was fourteen, his frequency would register as a child’s, and non-threatening. It made hacking and listening in much easier. 

 _< …implement the code,>_ the cop sent to whoever he was in contact with _. <It can’t fail. The virus is the most sophisticated snaptrap the Guards have ever produced. And when they fall, they’ll be forced to admit that they were taking the cargo for themselves. The people will see and renounce this petty group for the criminals they are. Yes, I’m on my way now. Lead your squad east – we need to contain this mob before it gets out of hand.>_ 

Gavroche wasn’t smiling now. By pure chance, he had been given the opportunity to save the ABC from certain ruin. He opened a private channel to Éponine and disconnected his hack, undetected. 

 _< Gavroche?>_ 

 _< News from the G,>_ he sent quickly. < _Snaptrap virus aimed at the ABC. Can you contact them? >_

 _< No, but you could. Get back here, quick!>_

_< Coming. G’s coming round from the east to kettle you.>_

_< Hurry.>_ 

He disconnected and started to run again, leaving his pole behind on the floor. He needed to be as fast as possible. There weren’t any public porthubs this far out, and the closest one was at least ten minutes’ run away. 

Éponine called him when he was almost there, feet flying over the ground. He could hear the distant sound of shouts and crashing metal. 

 _< Porthubs beyond the docks have been disconnected. You’ll have to come here.>_

_< Shit_.> Gavroche swore. 

 _< Take the subway?>_

_< Nah, I’ll hop.>_

_< Careful.>_ 

He changed direction abruptly, heading for the illegal hop-spot in the wall of tunnel 87. “Wotcha,” he panted to the slummer on duty. “Underground service.” 

“Credits?” The man peered up at Gavroche from under his hat, a bundle of filthy rags with dark, slitted eyes. 

“What about this?” Gavroche handed over the beaker of water Cosette had given him earlier, before she’d started giving it out for free. 

“Where the _fuck_ –” 

“Shift it, mister, I ain’t got all day.” 

The slummer pushed back the panel without another word. He’d probably never had a beaker of water like that in his life, and Gavroche sighed regretfully at the loss as he ducked through and started to run through to the hop-channel. It was tricky for kids his size to ride the pods, but he was used to it by now. Hopping was the fastest way to get around the lower levels, but it was dangerous. Adapted from outer-space tech, the hopper locked themselves in a claustrophobic pod just big enough to stand upright in and launched themselves into the vent streams. 

If you didn’t know exactly where you were going, it was easy to get lost in the unlabelled network of pressurised, high-speed air channels. You had to know how to handle the pod, how to manoeuvre it in tight spots and round corners, and you had to know exactly how much you weighed. Lighter went faster, obviously, and was easier to steer, but also took harder hits and had a higher chance of missing turnings and exits. 

Gavroche jumped into the nearest pod at the end of the rough tunnel and locked the door as he downloaded the channel map and unfolded it in the corner of his vision. More out of habit than anything – he knew where he was going. He was an old hat at hopping. A kick of his feet and a pull of the lever, and he fell back into the stream. He punched the release button and whooped as the pod was sucked away. Illegal riding was even more dangerous – this pod probably hadn’t passed a safety test for about a decade – but the rattle of the screws and the scream of the wind beyond the thin casing were familiar sounds for him. 

Luck was on his side, and he didn’t miss a single turning on his way to the docks. Riding the channels meant the journey only took five minutes, and he angled the pod carefully in the stream and sent the transmission for the dock-spot to catch him. The thud of the impact rattled his bones, and he shook his head with a grunt as the pod was pulled upright. He fell out in a heap and scrambled up at a run. He’d made sure to dock at another illegal hop-spot, figuring it was less likely to be watched. 

He heard the noise as soon as he started running towards the panel. More screams and shouts, the metal floor and walls vibrating with the impact of feet and makeshift weapons. Gavroche had to shove his way out of the wall, there were so many people in the way. They were yelling and stamping, hands in the air, faces twisted with anger, and none of them noticed Gavroche as he wove a path through them at waist-height, grinning with the excitement. 

 _< Here,>_ he sent to Éponine. < _Just came out of tunnel 205. >_

 _< I’m in 213. Hurry!>_

_< Coming, coming.>_ 

Gavroche hooked into the public signals as he ran, wanting to hear and see what everyone else was. The signal didn’t reach the air vents, so he hadn’t bothered trying to connect while he was hopping. The amount of traffic was crazy. The channels were choked with frequencies, everyone trying to make themselves heard at once. 

He took a shortcut through a couple of walls and emerged into tunnel 213 with a huff. It was _packed_. He pinged Éponine, shoving his way through to where the porthub was. She was waiting for him, keeping it free with the gun in her hand. “Quick!” she shouted when she saw him. “Link up!” 

“I know, I know,” he grumbled, plugging in obediently. She sent him a scrap of cheat-code to get through the credit-charging blocker, and he pushed his frequency out beyond the station, boosting it through the nethubs on each gate he passed until he reached Raknar. A child’s frequency wouldn’t show up on their radars at all, so it was easy to do, but when he got to Raknar Gate, there were firewalls in place, blocking his access. < _Can’t get through, >_ he sent to Éponine, frustrated. 

 _< Try this.>_ She sent him another code, much longer. He copied it line for line and sent it into the Raknar’s system. There was a moment where nothing happened, and then he was in. They were all there, the familiar frequencies of the ABC together with a hell of a lot of the G’s. And a strange coded structure Gavroche had never encountered before but knew had to be the Barricade. 

 _< Gavroche!>_ 

Courfeyrac recognised him first, and millions of miles away, Gavroche grinned. < _Message from the riot line! >_

 _< Riot?>_

_< Is Cosette there? Is she alright?>_

_< Shut up.>_ That was Enjolras. _< What is it?>_

 _< Snaptrap virus on your way,>_ Gavroche sent. < _Heard from a copper. They’ll shut you down and make it out like you were trying to nick the cargo for yourselves. >_

 _< You’re sure?>_

_< I know all sorts. No one notices little people like me.>_

_< Combeferre! Joly! Strengthen the Barricade, focus it to reflect a snaptrap. They won’t get us like that if we’re prepared.>_

_< Well done, Gavroche,>_ Courfeyrac sent, with a burst of gratitude. Gavroche puffed his chest out. It was good to be important. 

 _< What’s this about a riot?> _A frequency he didn’t recognise immediately, but the identity ping told him it was someone called Bahorel. 

 _< What about Cosette?>_ Marius, the dreamer. 

 _< Your blondie hacked the public channels,>_ Gavroche told him, _< uploaded the truth so everyone could see. People’re going crazy down here.>_

 _< I’m not getting a thing!>_ That was Grantaire, the one who was always drunk. _< There hasn’t been a single frequency!>_ 

 _< The G must be blocking it,>_ Gavroche realised, and sent a quick message to Éponine. _< Does everyone have that code you gave me to get in?>_

 _< No, just you and me.>_

_< Broadcast it to everyone,> _he told her, _< then they’ll get through_. _>_ He was about to tell the ABC his genius plan when something horrible started to happen to his frequency. 

“Gavroche!” he heard Éponine shout as he collapsed, mind flooding with white and his body going into shock. 

 _< Gavroche!>_ Courfeyrac pinged him frantically over and over, trying to clear his frequency from corruption. _< Gavroche!>_ 

Corruption. He was being corrupted. 

 

 

There were arms around him, but Courfeyrac could only feel them distantly, lost as he was in the signal, desperately trying to get through the waves of corruption obscuring Gavroche’s frequency. It was coming from the point of origin, from the station. Someone had obviously realised that a frequency was getting through to the Raknar Gate and unleashed a virus to stop it. They had to know it was a child. There was no mistaking it. 

 _< Gavroche!>_ If infoLink messages could be voiced, he’d be screaming. His body was shaking, reacting to his mind’s horror, and the arms around him were the only things holding him up. < _Gavroche! >_ Recklessly, he tried to link their frequencies, tried to strengthen Gavroche against the assault, but the others immediately broke the half-formed connection, putting layers of code in the way that he wasn’t skilled enough to break through. He wasn’t a programmer like Combeferre or a hacker like Joly, or even a spotter like Bossuet, but he threw his frequency at the barriers nonetheless, continuing to ping Gavroche helplessly, seeing the corruption spread. 

 _< No! Gavroche! Gavroche!>_ 

“Hold him back –” 

“Courfeyrac, stop, stop it –” 

Courfeyrac ignored them, struggling against the arms holding him in place as if getting free of them would help him reach Gavroche. 

Suddenly, another frequency aligned itself with Gavroche’s, slowing the corruption down. _Éponine_. She had linked up with her little brother, trying to save him at the risk of her own life. Courfeyrac fell to his knees, praying that it would work. 

But the corruption was only slowed, not stopped, and he was aware of tears on his face as it continued to spread, tainting Éponine’s frequency as well. They were dying. This was no cold execution virus that would destroy their infoLinks and leave their minds intact. It would infect their brains and turn them into living corpses. 

 _< Gavroche!>_ He continued to send message after message, trying to untangle the complicated lines of data the others had put in his way. _< Let me through! Gavroche!>_ 

 _< Disconnect him,>_ Enjolras ordered. 

 _< Don’t you dare!>_ Courfeyrac struggled harder against whoever was holding him as they started to drag him towards a porthub. _< Don’t you DARE! Let me go! Stop!>_

Then something incredible happened. The twinned frequencies of Gavroche and Éponine, which had been receding and dimming steadily under the virus, began to grow again, getting stronger and brighter, pushing back the corruption. 

 _< Frequencies coming in hot!>_ Grantaire sent through the system. _< Gavroche’s is channelling them, they’re all coming through…dozens! Fifty…seventy…over a hundred frequencies on the wave!>_

The corruption was destroyed under the combined strength of so many frequencies, and Courfeyrac collapsed, dead weight in the arms still encircling him, almost sobbing with relief.

 _< Éponine’s code!>_ Marius’ frequency was practically singing. _< She broadcasted it before she linked herself to Gavroche! They’re all coming through!>_ 

Courfeyrac tried to find the boy in the tide. Combeferre dismantled the barriers, letting him through now the danger was gone, and suddenly Courfeyrac’s pings were returned. _< Gavroche! Are you alright?>_

 _< Reckon I hit me head on the way down.>_

_< He’s fine,>_ Éponine sent, her own relief flooding the system. _< The snaptrap, don’t forget –>_

 _< She’s right.>_ Enjolras collected himself and sent out commands to the programs they’d put in place to guard against the virus. _< Focus. This isn’t over yet.>_

Courfeyrac came back to the physical barrier slowly, blinking away tears. When he looked, he saw that it had been Combeferre’s arms holding him up and holding him back, and he grasped a wrist gratefully. 

“Not to ruin the moment,” Jehan called from on top of the barrier, “but I think the guards are coming?” 

“Feuilly!” Enjolras barked. “Prepare the ship for take-off. The second the nutrition shipment is within docking distance of the station, we’re gone. Combeferre, Joly, Bossuet, keep an eye out for the snaptrap. Marius, Bahorel, eyes forward. Jehan, keep to the side, don’t get closer than you need to. Courfeyrac?” 

Combeferre slipped away with a final squeeze of encouragement, and Courfeyrac looked up at Enjolras and took the offered hand, getting to his feet. “I’m fine,” he whispered. He _was_ fine. Even if they still died here, at least Gavroche had survived. Thank God. 

Enjolras squeezed his shoulder. “You’re with me. Come on.” 

They collected their weapons and clambered up onto the barricade with the others. This was their last stand, Courfeyrac thought, wiping at his face with his sleeve as the sound of tramping boots came down the corridor. If they could just hold up under this last attack until the shipment reached the station, they might even get out alive. 

“Company, halt!” 

Beside him, Enjolras readied his gun. Courfeyrac did the same. Hope was electric in the air now. They could do this. They could win this fight. 

The platoon of guards attacked the barricade at exactly the same time as the snaptrap was unleashed on the Barricade, and all hell broke loose.

 

 

She was going to _kill them_. She was going to cover them both in kisses first, maybe even cry a little out of sheer relief, but then she was going to garrotte Joly with his damn medical tools and hit Bossuet in the head until he died too. Because really, how _dare_ they up and leave the entire damn station without even telling her? If she decided to let them live, they were going to have a _serious_ conversation about keeping her in the loop at all times. If she needed to join their ridiculous justice club, then so be it. At least she’d be able to talk to Cosette. 

Musichetta waited at the docks, right at the front next to Éponine and Gavroche, neither of whom should have been walking around after being attacked by such a strong virus. She would get Joly to look them over when he got back. 

 _When_ he got back. Not if – when. Because now it was certain that they _were_ coming back. Her hands twisted in knots in front of her and she kept a close eye on the ship’s progress dot on the map as it sped towards them, with her boys on board. 

She had been with Joly for quite a long time before Bossuet truly joined them. She loved Joly, she did, but medicine was a cruel mistress who stole him away for hours and even days at a time. Bossuet was more available, and initially, it was that simplicity that had brought about the _arrangement_ , as they called it. Joly had been away more and more, and she had been spending more and more time with Bossuet. They got along well, very well; Bossuet slotted into their lives as easily as if there had always been a space for him. He had no lodging of his own, so stayed with Joly most of the time, and Musichetta had grown used to knowing that he was on the other side of the partition wall, just a few metres away as she and Joly made love. 

Joly had agreed to open their relationship to include Bossuet for her sake – she had appetites, for God’s sake, and she was sick of using toys. She preferred a real body next to hers, filling the space in the bed. Joly trusted Bossuet, loved him deeply, and agreed that there was no one else he would rather invite into their bed. Of course, he then completely forgot to tell Bossuet about that decision, so when she had moved on him he had panicked and scrambled away like she had a disease. 

“It’s fine!” she’d insisted. “We discussed it, Joly and I, we agreed this is okay, if you want to.” 

Bossuet had held up a hand and pinged Joly until he picked up. “Did you…” he couldn’t stop staring at Musichetta as he spoke. “I mean…what?” Helpless lamb. He’d been quite adorable. But once Joly assured him (quickly, because he was on call) that Musichetta was telling the truth, Bossuet had allowed her to draw him into the bedroom. He’d been so nervous that first time. So gentle and hesitant, slow and careful. Quite unlike Joly’s deft surety. And of course she loved the way Joly could move his clever fingers inside her, and the way he knew her body so well that he could make it sing for him with the right touches, but there was something incredibly exciting about the newness of Bossuet, the higher pitch of his voice, the different way he kissed. It was intoxicating. 

In the morning, Joly had returned and simply clambered into the bed, pinning Bossuet between them. Once he’d gotten over his initial shock and fallen back to sleep, she and Joly had had a whispered conversation over his head that ended with Musichetta sliding down under the covers to wake Bossuet up with her mouth while Joly watched and gave instructions. 

Bossuet had woken slowly, and then suddenly with a gasp, arching his back. “Oh my…what the…” 

“I told Chetta about your weakness for blowjobs,” Joly had said, grinning. And Bossuet _did_ have a weakness for them. Chetta had never heard a man make such sounds before – whimpers, gasps, little desperate sobbing sounds that went right to her cunt. And Joly had kept talking, little murmurs of instruction here and there. “Pull off for a second? Mm. Lick right…yes, just like that. Now around the head. Perfect, isn’t she, Bossuet?” Joly had had to hold his hand over Bossuet’s mouth to stop him crying out too loudly, his chest heaving and his whole body shaking by the time she and Joly had finally let him come. 

When she had found out that they had stolen the ships with the ABC – from the _news_ , she was going to kill them for that _alone_ – the idea of losing both of them at the same time had struck her like a steel wall. She couldn’t have been more buffeted than if she’d tried to hop without a pod. Both of her beautiful men had left her without so much as a word of warning, and what if they were caught and killed? 

That first night had been the absolute worst. Before Cosette arrived and told her that everyone was still alive and well, she had been tortured by visions of Joly and Bossuet dying beyond her reach, the life leaving their eyes and their bodies going limp. Of their ship being captured and boarded, the two of them forced to line up against a wall, their infoLinks searched and scanned and corrupted as punishment for their actions. 

Joly’s terrified face haunted her. Bossuet’s eyes, his trembling hands. The thought of them being callously shot down by faceless G soldiers kept her awake, unable to even think of going to bed without them there. 

But now they were coming home, and the atmosphere on the docks was elated. The nutrition cargo was huge, its contents being unpacked and distributed fairly under Cosette’s stern eyes. Only those present would be able to receive the bounty, but it was a start. The squads of cops who had tried to pen them in and take them down had been soundly defeated, thanks largely to the vast number of unregulated passages and slide-tunnels through the walls and between the decks. It was impossible for the G to get a tight hold on them when they could slip between their fingers so easily. 

The rest of the station was in chaos, the alphabet decks locked down and protected against the mobs that had started moving further up. Musichetta didn’t know what would happen next, but as long as she and her men were together, she felt that everything would be okay. 

“They’re docking!” 

Beyond the protective hatch, the sound of a ship coming in to land rumbled through her feet, and Musichetta pushed her way through to the very front of the crowd, barely able to draw enough air into her lungs to keep herself conscious. She needed to see them. She needed to see their faces, feel their bodies against hers. She needed to know that they were okay. 

It took too long for the ship to dock. Musichetta twisted her fingers together, impatient, and nearly squeaked when the hatch finally began to open. She was under it before it had risen more than three feet off the ground, running towards the drop-door of the G ship the ABC had stolen. The boys were walking out, and there, there they were. 

“You bastards!” she shrieked, hurling herself at them and starting to cry as they caught her and spun her around, messing up the momentum and coming to a stumbling halt, almost falling over. Musichetta cursed and praised them in every language and slang dialect she knew, the words mixing together into an incomprehensible gibberish. 

Bossuet pressed kiss after kiss to her neck and shoulder, arm tight around her back, and Joly kissed her mouth between curses, tears on his face as well. Behind them, Musichetta could hear the other members of the ABC being cheered and hailed as heroes, but she kept Joly and Bossuet back a little while, long enough for her to kiss each of them deeply, punch both hard on the arm, and wipe her wet cheeks 

“I love you so much,” she stood between them and wrapped an arm around each of their waists, “but I swear, if you _ever_ do anything like this again, I will skin you alive. I actually will. They will never find your bodies. God, I could kill you, you _bastards_.” 

“We’re sorry,” Bossuet murmured into her hair, still kissing her cheek, her neck, her jaw. “Never again, we’re so sorry.” 

“What he said.” Joly was finding it difficult to speak through his hiccups as he tried to stop crying, and she pressed her forehead against his damp chin, remembering their argument before they left. How stupid it had seemed once she found out that they might be killed. How petty. 

“Guys!” Feuilly shouted. “Come on!” 

Musichetta walked between them as they emerged onto the docks. The other members of the ABC had been almost swallowed by the crowd, intent on conveying their congratulations and gratitude via touch. Of the hundreds squeezed into the space, there had to be dozens recording the event, broadcasting it live for anyone to see. The ABC had been practically anonymous before. Now their faces were known from here to the top deck, and probably far beyond. Not everyone would be happy with the liberation of the Lutia Space Station. If their lives had been risky before, they were downright dangerous now. 

She wouldn’t stay behind again, Musichetta decided, holding her boys close against her. Next time, she would go with them. She might not believe in the value of taking up arms to defend the rights of people she’d never met and didn’t particularly care about, but she would fight to her last breath to protect her lovers. 

The crowd lifted Enjolras onto an overturned street cart and someone passed him a portable microphone. He spoke of revolution, of a rising tide that would flood the station from the lowest deck to the very top and wash it clean. He promised a new beginning, an end to the tyranny they had been labouring under for so long. His words were music to the ears of the listeners, but Musichetta barely heard them. Tucked between Joly and Bossuet, she closed her eyes and simply breathed. The revolution could wait until tomorrow. She had pressing business with her men to attend to, preferably in a large bed, far away from prying eyes.

  

 

Marius hadn’t been up beyond the first deck for a long time. Not since he left his home with only a few credits to his name and the clothes on his back. His grandfather hadn’t contacted him since, and Marius hadn’t tried to go back. He’d fallen, yes, into what he knew his grandfather and the people he used to know called the gutter, but there had been people there to catch him. People in their multitudes. People who were far kinder, braver, and more compassionate than any of those he’d left behind. 

Courfeyrac had been the one to find him, a lost rich boy wandering the streets of the third deck, obviously out of place, obviously confused and upset. Courfeyrac had taken him in, introduced him to the others, and Marius’ mind had expanded and grown beyond anything even he might have dreamed of up in his old home on R-deck. The further up the alphabet decks you went, the richer the inhabitants. He’d been to a couple of parties up on V-deck once. Thinking of the decadence and waste he’d witnessed made him sick now. 

Once the people had broken past the barriers the G had set up on the main deck, 1-A, they had become the flood Enjolras had promised. But a flood could do greater damage before cleaning the area, Marius knew, and he was glad everyone around him knew his face and listened to what he said so that he could temper the tide somewhat. 

“Stop!” he shouted, running forward and inserting himself between a man and the door he’d just attempted to kick down. “What are you doing?” 

“Getting in.” The man scowled, obviously riding high on the adrenaline. “What’s it look like?” 

“Do you know who lives here?” Marius demanded. 

The man spat on the ground. “Alphabet freeloaders, that’s who.” 

“No,” Marius stood straighter, aware of others turning to watch the confrontation. “People live here. People like you and me.” 

“People like me don’t get to live like this,” the man gestured angrily at the house with its polished edges and clean steps. There was a mutter of agreement from the people around, and Marius lowered his voice, making them quiet down to hear him. 

“They’re still people. We’re all human here. It’s not their fault you’ve had it harder than them. They don’t understand – the government keeps them as ignorant as it keeps you poor. They’re naïve, not cruel. Pity them, don’t punish them.” 

A different man stepped forward and shook his head. “How can I pity them? They steal the food from our mouths! They stamp us down!” 

“They used to,” Marius nodded, meeting his eyes steadily. “But we’re changing that now, aren’t we? We’re making a better future.” Something clicked along his infoLink – someone streaming his speech to the public channels. He pretended not to notice and kept addressing the man. “We need to be _better_ now. We can’t just overthrow everything and hope the balance will right itself – we need to work at it, prove that we can be worthy of the responsibility. We need to prove to everyone that what we’re doing now isn’t blind vengeance, but a positive change. And for truly positive change, we all need to work together, numbers _and_ letters, and part of that is forgiving the ones who’ve hurt us in the past, whether they meant to or not. It’s not easy, but it’s the only way we can make this work.” 

The crowd around him muttered, but not rebelliously. Those watching him through their infoLinks added their frequencies, voicing their opinions one way or the other. Instinctively, Marius uploaded a snippet of personal information, and suddenly the whole station had access to the fact that he was born and raised on R-deck. He watched the shock ripple through the people around him and saw it cause the same reaction online. They’d expected him to be alphabet-educated, but certainly not from so high up. Before people could jump in with more questions, he spoke again. 

“People can change. You just need to let them, and be patient when they try.” Born on R-deck, he had been all the way to the freezing, filthy depths of level 20 at the very bottom, and he had been one of the ones who had risked his life to give them the nutrition cargo. He saw that realisation take root, and breathed a sigh of relief when they accepted it, some with suspicion, but most with cautious hope. 

 _< Well done, Marius.>_ Enjolras sent along a private line. The tone of the message was proud, and Marius grinned, jumping down from the step he’d stood up on to deliver his speech. 

Cosette pinged him – she was close by – and Marius wove through the crowd, accepting handshakes and cheers when they recognised him. It was odd, being noticed so much, and maybe it would bother him in the future, but for now he was too caught up to care. He spotted Cosette’s bright hair through the crush of people and came up behind her to spin her around. She laughed and turned in his arms when he put her down. 

“Good speech,” she smiled, hands in his hair. “Alphabet boy.”

He laughed. “And which deck did you used to live on?” he teased. “I think it had a letter, didn’t it?” 

“F-deck is miles behind R, and you know it,” she stroked a hand along his jaw, and pulled him down to kiss her. Through his infoLink, Marius knew that Enjolras had reached the doors of the Nebula, the huge building on S-deck which served as the home of the government. They would try and keep the mob out, of course, and try to hole up until G reinforcements arrived to drive the peasants back to the lower decks, out of sight and out of mind. 

They would try, but they would fail. They would topple under the weight of the population rising up against them, and everything would change forever. “All thanks to you,” he murmured in Cosette’s ear. “If you hadn’t uploaded the truth, none of this would have happened.” 

“Thanks to us,” she corrected. “We all played our parts.” 

He buried his face in her hair, not even caring that several people nearby were streaming it to an outpouring of online squealing. “Marry me,” he whispered, so that only she would hear him. “When this is over. Marry me.” He’d never plucked up the courage to ask her before, though he’d wanted to almost from the moment they met. He’d never been so scared of losing anyone. 

Cosette was laughing and crying, and she kissed him before saying, “Yes! Yes, yes –” 

 _< A new dawn.>_ Enjolras’ frequency was bright and clear through the whole system, boosted by a powerful porthub. _< A new beginning. Who will stand with me?>_

Something was being constructed in the system. Marius recognised Combeferre’s frequency among many, many others as thousands of people added their frequencies to the wave, the online equivalent of a shout. 

 _< Who will stand with me?>_ Enjolras asked again, and Marius and Cosette added their frequencies to the roar. _< We are strongest when we are together,>_ Enjolras continued as the structure grew and grew. A channel, Marius realised. Combeferre and whoever he was working with were constructing a channel for the frequencies to be directed through in order to break down the Nebula’s barrier. _< Only together can we achieve greatness.>_ 

 _< Now,>_ Combeferre’s message was a whisper compared to Enjolras’ shout, but everyone received the intention if not the word, and they surged forward like a battering ram. The channel held up under the strain, and the Nebula’s barrier wavered, and shattered. 

People were singing, Marius realised, clutching Cosette tight against him. They were shouting out, both here and online. A huge confusing tumult of cheers and cries of triumph. Liberty, Marius heard. Justice, freedom, and the hope of a better tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> THERE IS FANART FOR YOUR VIEWING PLEASURE BY THE UTTERLY BRILLIANT [VRISKACIRCUIT!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vriskacircuit/) Of [Enjolras at the Barricade](http://myrmidryad.tumblr.com/post/53882874346/dalek-parties-are-always-rubbish-this-looks) and a [beautiful e/R kiss.](http://myrmidryad.tumblr.com/post/53882928735/dalek-parties-are-always-rubbish-more-dumb-art) Imma cry.
> 
> If I wasn't such a sap, this story would've ended the way the real one did - with everyone dying alone, far from home. But I'm allergic to writing unhappy endings, so it all turned out okay. Woo!
> 
> Lutia is apparently one of the ancient names of Paris. Who knew?
> 
> This fic comes with accompanying fanmix! Listen [here](http://8tracks.com/myrmidryad/a-pattern-in-the-system-a-bullet-in-the-gun/edit), track listing and download link [here](http://myrimidryad.livejournal.com/121771.html). 
> 
> Feel free to ask any questions about the technology that I made up as I went along!
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please consider [buying me a coffee!](https://ko-fi.com/A221HQ9) <3


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